A Promise
by Ponderess
Summary: A take on how Peeta experiences the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games.


**A Promise**

I let my eyes stray over the people in my block until I find her. Katniss Everdeen is wearing a light blue dress. I'm quite sure it's one that her mother lent her for today. First of all, Katniss is not the type of girl who usually wears dresses; second, it's too neat to belong to a coal miner's daughter. Not that I would look down on her for her roots, but being the one to feed her family since she was twelve, she wouldn't be one to save money for a dress which she hardly had the occasion to wear. Katniss is pragmatic, this much I know even though I've never spoken to her. Her mother on the other hand is the daughter of an apothecary. I don't find it hard to imagine that she kept some of her clothes from before she ran away with the coal miner that became Katniss' father.

The long brown hair is tucked up neatly on her head. I've seldom seen Katniss looking so elegant and openly beautiful. It's hard to keep my eyes off her, but as the procedure begins, I try to focus on the stage where the major gives a speech. Yet my gaze randomly wanders over to her whenever I think no one is watching.

She isn't looking anywhere near my direction. I can see her exchange glances with her two year older friend Gale. It pinches me to see how close they are. And I'm having these thoughts again, where I'd like to be in Gales place. From my father I know that they regularly go hunting in the woods, even though it's illegal. My father sometimes buys their squirrels.

I have no idea of hunting, but I would try to kill for the chance to spend so much time with Katniss as Gale does. Yet I know that won't be possible. I already fail at attracting her attention, how should I, Peeta Mellark, the baker's son, gain her company for several hours?

The events move on. Effie Trinket from the Capitol has taken over the stage to draw out the two names of District 12's tributes. As always the girl is chosen first. My chest tightens as Effie Trinket's hand dives into the ball.

_Please, not Katniss. Don't let it be Katniss Everdeen,_ I chant in my mind, while my eyes are fixed on the fingers groping through the heap of neat notes. Even as the slender hands have made their choice and Effie Trinket steps back to the microphone to call out the name, I repeat the words silently. _Not Katniss. Please not her._

"Primrose Everdeen," Effie Trinket's voice echoes unpleasantly in my ears.

My eyes are back on Katniss immediately. Helplessly I watch her stagger, someone steadying her by gripping her arm. Her face is blank from shock, as if she still had to process what she just heard in order to understand.

The unhappy whispering of the crowd doesn't reach my ears. I want to make my way to her, take her in my arms and tell her that everything is going to be okay. But I can't, my feet won't move. And honestly, could it be any worse? I know that I'd rather watch Katniss fight for her live with at least a small chance of survival, than see her fall apart watching her little sister being slaughtered in the Hunger Games with no chance at all.

And here she comes, the small blond girl that is Katniss' younger sister Prim. She's completely pale, but the way she walks towards the stage with her fists clenched, she almost looks brave. A bit of the backside of her blouse has slipped out of her skirt and moves awkwardly as she takes one step after another.

The sight of Prim brings Katniss back to live. Twice she calls out for her little sister as she heads towards the stage. The others make way for her immediately, so she reaches Prim, before the girl can take the steps up to Effie Trinket who has already stretched out her hand for her.

In a protective gesture, she shoves the younger girl behind her back. Her breath goes heavily; I can see her breast rise and fall.

"I volunteer," Katniss gasps. "I volunteer as tribute."

The sound fades out. All I can hear is the rushing of the blood in my ears and the damp pounding of my heart. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Effie Trinket turn towards the major and Haymitch Abernathy, the only living of the two winners from District 12. But my gaze is focused on Katniss.

I have my wish. I won't have to watch her fall apart while her sister is slaughtered in the Hunger Games. Instead she will enter the arena herself and face her almost certain and cruel death.

The events rush past me. Prim is being carried away by Gale, screaming on the top of her lungs. Katniss walks up the stairs to the stage in her stead where she is welcomed by Effie Trinket. The woman from the Capitol seems overly excited about the turn things have taken. On learning Katniss' name she guesses her relation to Prim and asks for a big applause.

I don't feel like clapping my hands, I'd rather throw up. Luckily, no one does. The place is silent. Some people start to put their three middle fingers to their lips and then hold them up in the air. Others follow their example, and so do I. All around me I can see fingers being stretched up towards the sky; a sign of our gratitude and our admiration for Katniss Everdeen, a respectful farewell to our volunteer.

I take down my hand as one of the last; meanwhile Haymitch falls drunk from the stage and has to be carried away. My eyes fix Katniss again. I will her to look at me, to find my gaze and hold it for a little while, just enough for her to see how I feel about her. But she doesn't look at me, not even near my direction. She never does, she hasn't noticed me in four years.

Back then was the only time I remember her looking at me. When she was close to starving and searched our waste container for something edible. My mother chased her away, but I saw her crunch down beneath a tree in our backyard. I let two loafs of bread burn in the oven. My mother was so furious she hit me in the face. Yet instead of feeding the burnt bread to the pigs, I tossed it over to her. The other day I found her staring at me, but when I met her gaze, she looked away. And that was it.

Now I wish I could do something to help her again, something to save her from this. But I'm powerless. All I can think of is visit her and tell her goodbye. How should that help her, though? And what would I say. _I've been in love with you since we were little kids?_ Could I be any more selfish? She's already leaving a family behind that was depending on her since she was twelve and her father had died. How could the confession of my love for her leave her with anything else but guilt? That wouldn't be fair.

Suddenly I feel the gazes. Many pairs of eyes are staring at me now. And I realise what just happened. Effie Trinket's hand had reached into the second ball filled with the boy's names. Now she's standing there with one slip of paper held out in front of her. And it's my name she just called out.

_I'm the male tribute._

My eyes are hefted to the ground as I try to hide my emotions. I don't want anyone to see my fear that rises in me by the thought of entering the arena. I'm a baker's son; I have no idea of weapons and fighting. My chances for lasting in the games are quasi non-existent.

Somehow I start making my way up towards the stage. I can't keep the fear out of my face, but I try my best. Their gazes follow me. All the people that have gathered; I can feel their eyes glued to me, just as they were trained on Prim a few moments before. I even think that Katniss is looking at me for once. But as I step onto the stairs and let my gaze wander over the stage, she's looking straight ahead.

Effie Trinket shoves me to a spot in line with Katniss, yet there's still distance between us. While we're standing up here for everyone to see, all I can think is that I have my wish again. I'm going to the arena with her. Maybe I'm not very skilled when it comes to survival, but I can do my best to help her last.

We're asked to shake hands. It's strange to finally face her. Katniss looks uneasy, I feel shaken thinking of what lies ahead of us. But as my fingers fold around Katniss' hand, I promise myself to protect her with my life.


End file.
